There's A Black Rose Growing

Remember The Golden Apple-trees; O, Do Not Pity Them, As You Watch Them Drop One By One, For They Fall Exhausted, Numb, Blind But In Certain Ecstasy, For Theirs Is The Hunger For Paradise.

Ah Love Is Bitter And Sweet, But Which Is More Sweet The Bitterness Or The Sweetness, None Has Spoken It.

I Testify To Rainbow Feathers, To The Span Of Heaven And Walls Of Colour, The Colonnades Of Jasper.

When The Shingles Hissed In The Rain Incendiary, Other Values Were Revealed To Us

War Is A Fevered God Who Takes Alike Maiden And King And Clod.